


Of Gods and Men

by rainfall



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bondage, But he does oh yes he does, Domination, Doom might be lucky Loki likes this, Getting to know all about youuu, Getting to know you, Hand Jobs, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 04:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainfall/pseuds/rainfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Patience</i> was something all gods had, by their very nature, in abundance. Nigh immortality required deep reserves of it, and even the most foolhardy among them could easily wait -- patiently -- for a hundred years.</p><p>So of course no mere mortal could hope to outlast the patience of a god.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Gods and Men

**Author's Note:**

> _Not, not, not_ the Doom from the Fantastic Four movies. ~~Please try again, Fox.~~ But still meant to take place in the current MCU universe, at some vague point down the line, when Loki has had time to branch out and... make new villain friends.
> 
> Written for the following porn battle prompts: trust, chains, subjugation, humanity, power, masks.

_Patience_ was something all gods had, by their very nature, in abundance. Nigh immortality required deep reserves of it, and even the most foolhardy among them could easily wait -- patiently -- for a hundred years.

As such, Loki knew that what he felt at this particular moment was _not_ impatience. Admittedly, his breathing had taken on a certain ragged quality over the last hour, and perhaps he was more aware than he should have been of the sweat drying on his bared skin, or the quick urgent beating of his heart that he could feel so keenly between his wide-spread thighs -- but awareness of desire was hardly the same thing.

He could have lasted. He could have lasted _easily_. Victor von Doom was an unusual man, and a very _exacting_ man, but mortal still. _Human_ still, with all the frailties that implied. There would have been no contest at all, _if_ Loki had wanted to make it one.

When the fingers of one cool metal glove brushed the inside of his thigh, it was completely his choice to shiver responsively, and he was quick to turn that shiver into an invitation. "You've made me feel _so_ good," he purred, twisting sweetly up into the touch. Letting his legs fall yet wider apart. "If only -- there was something I could _do_... to return the favor..."

Doom paused for an instant, but his only answer was to drag those cool metal fingers deeper between Loki's legs, tracing the muscular curve of his thigh to the base of his cock, feather-light, so that his blood _throbbed_ and he was left panting dizzily.

So close, he was so _very_ close. Slick at the tip with his own seed, beginning to leak; he could feel the first bead sliding down slowly over his hot flesh. But he was _not_ impatient.

Loki opened his eyes to gaze up at Doom through his lashes with scorching heat. Clearly the carnal promise of his words alone had been somehow _unclear_ , so he would fix that. But when the other man met his gaze, Loki felt his throat go dry.

Implacable. Unyielding. _Certain_ of himself, of his place, of his right to do as he pleased. The eyes of Victor von Doom were not the eyes a mortal man should have possessed, and for the first time Loki wondered -- whether he had, perhaps, underestimated Midgard and this race of small, simple creatures that called itself _human_.

"You will return the favor," Doom told him, for all the world as though he were simply stating an obvious fact. "You will give me all the pleasure I have given you, and more." His voice was deep and rich, _vibrant_. Almost hypnotic. The voice of a king. "But it will not be _yet_."

And then Doom curled those cool metal fingers slowly around his cock, making Loki hiss: he could feel every joint, the seams in the armor scraping over his most sensitive skin. When Doom pumped him, the pleasure stole his breath -- but it was the pain that arched his back and forced the cry from his lips.

It was so very nearly enough; one more stroke like that would have finished him, would have sent him _plummeting_ over the edge. But Doom went immediately still, and he was left trembling instead.

 _Bastard,_ Loki thought dimly. "Tease," he groaned when he had breath enough for words at all.

"You enjoy it," Doom countered, mild, but his smooth baritone had an edge to it now; ever so slightly lower, ever so slightly _rougher_.

Loki was, perhaps, not the only one.

His throat had gone dry again, his chest was heaving, and he was all too conscious of his now-aching arousal. "I enjoy -- many things," he replied in the most honeyed voice he could muster, letting his eyes roll open lazily but forcing them to focus on what little he could see of Doom's expression.

And _oh_... oh, his eyes were so _dark_ , so intent on Loki's face, their deep brown blackened with real visceral undeniable _desire_. It should have been such a small thing, thoroughly unremarkable -- but from this man... this not-quite-simple mortal man... Somehow, it was _anything_ but small or unremarkable.

"I _had_ noticed," Doom murmured, eyes dragging down over his body, and Loki found himself shivering as if he could _feel_ their passage.

He was going to come so hard, and Doom would scarcely have to touch him. The thought was vaguely aggravating, but Loki could not bring himself to care just at the moment. The blood was singing in his veins.

"Very -- observant of you," he husked, levering himself up off the bed just enough to draw those eyes lower still. _Look at what you've done to me._ "But there are other things I would enjoy... more. Things we could enjoy _together_..."

Doom's gaze slid unmistakably to his cock and Loki found his breath caught.

He could have rocked up into the man's metal hand and finished _himself_ in a single stroke, he was that close. But he wanted more than that hollow satisfaction.

And he wanted this man, this _Victor von Doom_ , to be the one who gave it to him.

He was not accustomed to working for what he wanted, not like this. _Seduction_ came naturally to him, always had. He knew how to best accentuate his every feature, how to stretch and pose and preen. In ten words or less, he could ignite the blood of any man or woman, mortal or god. And yet, for all his many conquests over the centuries, Loki could remember only rarely being more profoundly... _thrilled_ than he had been by just the first hint of true heat in Doom's usually-impassive eyes.

What would it be like to see him breathless and flushed? Overwhelmed by the pleasure of Loki's body? _Undone?_ Even with his vivid imagination, Loki could not quite picture it -- and that only intensified his _want_ until all other thoughts seemed hazy and inconsequential, far less important than the hungry throbbing of his blood.

It could not have been more than a few seconds before Doom lifted his head again, those eyes trailing back up the length of Loki's body to his face at last, but relief surged through him all the same because what had been a faint, flickering flame before was now a blaze.

All he said was, "Perhaps," but the _yes_ of it was clear and the acquiescence went straight to Loki's cock and left him aching deep inside.

 _Yes,_ he very nearly said. _Oh, yes. You want me, and you may have me. Touch me, take me, only do it **now** before I burst._

"Only perhaps?" he teased instead breathlessly. Even those two words were not quite as steady as he would have liked, and he'd had to swallow before he could speak credibly at all.

Doom said nothing for a moment, then -- _oh,_ tugged slowly on his length, cool smooth metal and sharp scraping joints dragging over his raw nerves, and the world around him went briefly, beautifully red-black.

Heat. Need. _Ache._ Those things he still knew; everything else was too far away. Tremors rippled through him, his breathing shallow, and for the first time Loki tried to move more than the give of the shackles permitted. Their rattle echoed off the walls of the small room and he went still, eyes shutting tight.

"Did your mother never tell you," he murmured, " _not_ to play with your food?"

He was very aware of the absolute silence that followed, Doom not even _breathing_ ; dangerous, so dangerous, and he luxuriated in it as he had luxuriated in never moving enough to stir the length of enchanted chain that bound him securely to the wall above the headboard. What must Doom's expression have been like beneath that silly mask? Was he white, his lips a thin line, his jaw clenched tight? Were his knuckles bloodless? Did he long to _strike_ Loki? Was his strength amplified enough by his suit for it to _sting_?

The air stirred around him and he braced himself, but nothing else happened, and after a beat Loki opened his eyes slowly, blinking to clear them, and was startled in spite of himself to find that mask and those brown eyes inches from his own.

"Are you quite certain you wish to speak of mothers?" the man asked, low and utterly without inflection.

 _He knows nothing._ Loki was certain of that. No mortal did. The stories they told of Odin the _wise_ and Thor the _great_ and Loki the _wicked_ had so little basis in reality that they might as well have been wholly invented. _He knows nothing._

Yet adrenaline raced through him, his heart beating like the wings of a panicked bird, and Loki had to draw a hasty breath before he could purr sweetly, "If I have wilted your enthusiasm, feel _free_ to release me. I am quite capable of tending to my _own_ needs."

He should have expected Doom's eyes to lid, should have _expected_ the drawl of his voice as he replied, "I do not think so."

More than anything else, he should have expected the way metal fingers cinched tight on his cock, pain underscoring pain, wringing a gasp from him that he did not intend, and he was so close so close he could see the edge taste it his head was pounding he _needed_ this--

\--and then _nothing_ , no cool metal, no joints, just open air on his sweat and seed and burning flesh, Doom had released him completely for the first time and the sudden rush of blood was overwhelming. He arched and almost -- almost...

"I will kill you," he said when he could speak again, blind and almost deaf and trembling once more.

"You might," Doom acknowledged, somehow completely without fear.

Loki pointed his eyes at the green and silver blur until it came into focus, and was, in spite of himself, disappointed to find that the man had moved away from him, too far to even try to read the sincerity in those eyes -- and, even more in spite of himself, far less disappointed when he realized that Doom was removing his gauntlets.

Bare skin, bare hands, hands that might _touch_ him, might do something more than simply _tease_...

The idea dizzied him, and somewhere in the very back of his mind Loki allowed himself to admit that this sensation might have been something _almost_ like impatience.

He turned his gaze on the canopy and ignored the sound of each gauntlet being set on the bedside table, the softer more sinuous peel of fabric as the gloves underneath followed suit, of Doom's footsteps coming back towards the bed. "I hope you don't think these little chains of yours will really _protect_ you," he said to the air, unconcerned.

Braced for it as he was, however, the palm that settled on his belly -- warm and callused and _real_ \-- still went through him like electricity. He heard Doom's response from what seemed to be a great distance: "I have been dead, Asgardian. It holds no mystery for me."

Loki would have liked to raise his eyebrows at that; would have liked to laugh in disbelief, or ask sneeringly what his dear supposed daughter _Hela_ had thought of that, or any one of a dozen other mocking things, but then the hand on his belly skimmed low, fingers grazing his short dark curls, and suddenly his desperate cock was being stroked, _pumped_ , thumb rubbing under his ridge and then dragging through the sensitive slit with just enough pressure to be painful, and it was all Loki could do to clamp his mouth shut on the wanton cry bubbling up in his throat as he arched up off the bed and came so hard, thick bursts that splattered his chest and thighs with such force, perfect white release that seemed to go on forever.

 

A damp cloth brushed over his skin. It wiped down his belly, the insides of his thighs. The sensation was pleasant, and Loki spread his legs wider for it but did not bother to open his eyes. He was still drifting, on the cusp of dreaming, and he felt far too good to open his eyes just yet.

Doom made a sound that might have been a chuckle; the tinny echo of his mask made it hard to be sure. "Such indolence."

Without flexing, Loki could tell he was still chained to the headboard. He said, "Let me up, and I will take care of it myself."

"So that you may kill me?" Another brush of the damp cloth, higher up on his stomach.

The tone of it was droll, and Loki felt the smallest smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He smoothed it into something smug, letting his eyes flutter open, and found the other man's. "Ah, but what reason have I to kill you now, Doom? I am no longer the one left _wanting_."

Had he not been looking so closely, he likely would not have noticed the minute dilation of Doom's pupils, but he was and so he did. Loki wet his lips slowly, seeming to savor the taste of his own lips, and savoring more the way brown eyes lingered on the tip of his tongue.

"All that armor seems quite the pity, just at the moment," he added, voice dipping low.

Doom gazed at him, cloth pausing on his chest, and Loki canted his hips so that all of him was exposed: cock, balls, and tight hole. _Mount me at either end. Or both. Whatever you like, Doom._

He meant it to taunt, because he did not think anything more than the gloves would be coming off tonight, but as the man continued to stare at him Loki was slightly surprised to find that he did still _want_ it. Despite all that Doom had put him through -- or perhaps because of it -- and even though he had already spent his seed...

Well. If Victor von Doom had not _interested_ him, Loki would never have allowed any of this. Of course he wanted more. Of course every second the man spent looking at his naked body and _visibly contemplating_ what it would have been like to pin his knees to the mattress and _fill_ him was like the lick of a flame, reminding him how very long it had been since he'd had more than his own fingers thrusting in again and _again_.

But Doom did, finally, withdraw the damp cloth and turn away from him to retrieve his gloves and gauntlets, so it would be a little longer yet.

Loki took a deep breath and then stretched very deliberately against the chain, testing it. The metal itself _was_ well-enchanted, probably with some of the same spellwork that Doom used on his armor, but with enough force he imagined he could rip the support beam from the wall, and then he wouldn't have to break the chain itself.

"Another time, perhaps," Doom said, and if that delicious rough edge would have been there in his voice a moment before, it was certainly gone now.

"Another time," Loki agreed good-naturedly, waiting for Doom to release him.

In his mind, he was already going over the runes he would need for the much stronger shackles that would soon be in place above the bed in his own room, and how _he_ would remember to enchant the support beams as well, and whether this unusual mortal man would have even half as much patience as he had.


End file.
